“NICE TO SEE YOU,” Janos said, blowing through the lobby of Pasternak & Associates and throwing a quick wave to the female security guard.
“Can I have you sign in for me?” the guard asked, tapping her finger on the three-ring binder that was open on her desk.
Janos stopped midstep and slowly turned back to the guard. This wasn’t the time to make a scene. Better to play it quiet.
“Absolutely,” he replied as he approached the desk. With a flick of his pen, he scribbled the name Matthew Mercer onto the sign-in sheet.
The guard stared up at the letters FBI on Janos’s blue and yellow windbreaker. To seal the deal, Janos quickly flashed a shined-up sheriff’s badge he got in an old Army-Navy store. When Janos made eye contact, the guard looked away.
“Nice day outside, huh?” the guard asked, staring out through the lobby’s enormous plate-glass window.
“Absolutely,” Janos repeated as he headed for the elevators. “Pretty as a peach.”